Birds of a Feather
by chezchuckles
Summary: A Dash Companion co-written with MyNameIsJeffNImLost. At a night baseball game, Ellery needs some cheering up.


**Birds of a Feather**

(an Ellery Companion)

* * *

 **a co-written story with MyNameIsJeffNImLost**

* * *

Blue sky - wide as the whole dome of the world - and not a cloud in sight.

Castle takes in a deep breath and smells peanuts, hot dogs, and hops. The crack of the bat makes him open his eyes, and he can't miss the ball as it drops in for a bloop single, the crowd around him beginning to cheer.

And masking whatever argument his two kids are having. He really thought he would be the hero tonight. He finished his chapter early, made sure the kids had a nap before the night game. He organized the whole thing himself while the city's best detective closed her case, and he even arrived at the stadium well before the national anthem, while Kate had to meet them here with the game already in progress.

But any credit Rick thought he was going to get is now gone, all because of a crosstown rivalry.

It's not his fault.

"Keep it down, guys," he mutters to them. When did Ellery become a _Mets_ fan? She only tolerates her brother's baseball obsession; she barely knows the rules. Most games she crowd-watches with him. The two of them roam the upper decks while Kate and Dash keep score cards.

Dashiell is giving a furious, low-toned diatribe against his sister's closed-lipped, stubborn fandom. Since it's mostly out of the range of Castle's hearing, he ignores it.

Until Ellery hauls off and punches her brother in the back.

Dash chokes and splutters, bug-eyed, and Castle snatches Ella's little fist before she can hit him again. " _Ella-_ "

" _What_ is going on here?"

The three Castles, two little and one big, immediately silence and look down the row to the woman most definitely in charge. Thank goodness for Kate.

"Dashiell Alexander, move down here. Ellery Kate, on the other side of your father."

The middle names are out. At least neither of his middle names are invoked, but he moves quickly to obey, all three of them shuffling around in the row. Their heads bobbing, shoulders hunched, no doubt interrupting someone's viewing pleasure. Kate is getting away with it, since the badge on her hip is keeping the three rows behind them quiet. And if the badge isn't visible, the fact that those hips are covered with skin tight jeans would silence any and all complaints, he's sure.

"You're both in time-out. Ella for hitting, Dashiell for starting it. No more talking."

Kate pushes to sit right beside Rick, ducking their son's head as she passes.

"Mom," he whines, "you're in my way!"

"Be nice," Castle says automatically, but it's Kate who thumps Dash's ear.

"Don't play the victim just because you got punched. I want to know what you did to deserve it."

Dash rubs the side of his head, barely looking their way. Yankees have started a rally, the bases loaded with no outs. But Dash is still in trouble, and Kate turns his chin towards her, crouching over his seat to talk to him. By rearranging the kids, she's broken her own rule of never getting up while their team is at bat, which must have made Dashiell nuts, because his son is giving Kate some backtalk.

"But you said to _show respect_ to the other fans-"

"Dashiell, what did I tell you?" Kate snaps.

Yeah, Castle is not getting in the middle of this one.

He should've separated the kids. Balancing sibling bonding against sibling rivalry is something he always struggles with. Neither he nor Kate have personal experience to draw upon. He raised Alexis an only child, though she's a big sister now. Dash and Ella get along well, so it's easy to forget the way they get on each other's nerves. A dragon will appear on Dash's bed, or the lights will go off on Ellery in the bathroom because Dash claims the glare was hurting his eyes.

Or in this case, a baseball rivalry he never knew existed.

Ella never watches games on TV, so how would she know any of the players? She saw J and Maddie at the restaurant just a few weeks ago. He might be retired, but he retired as a Yankee. Ellery should be a Yankees fan, according to every prevailing force in their house.

But she's cheering for the Mets.

The batter strikes out just as Kate leans back in her seat. Dashiell makes an unhappy noise, shoots a glance not at his mother, but down the row to Ellery. Fortunately, Ella doesn't even notice, sitting on the other side of Castle.

With he and Kate between their kids, the new arrangement definitely has an upside. Castle never gets to sit by his wife during a game. The kids are normally between them. Ooh, maybe they'll be on Kiss Cam. He wonders whose palms he can grease to make that happen. When do they usually do that anyway? Darn, it might be during the seventh inning stretch.

Why wait for a camera?

Castle leans in to give her a welcome kiss. She turns her head, and he misses his target, landing on her cheek. A little more wet than she likes, that's for sure. But Kate's fingers dust the side of his neck and he's not sure if that's acceptance or dismissal.

Rick pulls back. "Finish paperwork on the case?"

Kate nods once to his question, but then her fingers are tugging not-exactly-lightly on his ear.

"Do you want to explain to me how we got here?" she murmurs, giving him a look as she perches on his shoulder.

"The subway," he admits.

Kate rolls her eyes. "Seriously, Rick."

"It really was where this started. Dash loves riding in with the rest of the fans, and now that he's older, I really thought we could handle it-"

"I don't mean _here_ -here. I mean why is my daughter wearing a Mets cap?"

Castle does a double-take, then jerks wildly towards Ellery. Her pretty red baseball cap matches her pink _Clever Girl_ dinosaur t-shirt; she chose the hat on the way in the gates after the Terrible Subway Fiasco. "What are you talking about?" he croaks, turning back to Kate.

"The NY on the hat is the Mets logo, babe."

Castle stares at his wife. "I..."

"Which I'm assuming you bought for her, leading to their fight. She _hit_ him."

He takes one more look at Ella's baseball cap, her dark hair spilling out from under it, the poke of her ears like a pixie. And those innocent blue eyes.

Not so innocent. She _must_ have known. She punched Dash because of it.

But it's not his fault.

"I didn't know," he gives his wife lamely. "It's got the NY on it and I thought it was another one of those specialty things the Yankees always do."

"It's the Mets," she mutters, as if that answers everything.

"But the Mets are blue and orange," he protests.

She huffs. "Castle, you're usually a smart man. Do you not _see_ every logo down there?"

He scans the field - they are, in fact, close enough to see the players on the field, their facial expressions even. They got really good season tickets this year because Dashiell actually made friends at school over a common obsession with the Yankees. If Dash is making friends because of baseball, Castle will do whatever it takes.

"Everything was fine on the subway," Castle mutters.

Her fingers smooth the back of his shirt as if soothing him. It does the trick, and he finds the story coming right out of him.

"Dash insisted he had to be a real fan," Castle says, shaking his head. "He did okay until we disembarked. The sea of people on the platform was too much. So I carried him."

"He's too big to carry," Kate sighs, but there's no rebuke in it, just remorse.

"We worked through some breathing exercises," he tells her. "He was keeping it together, and Ella was doing so good, staying by me, not complaining. I had her by the hand, Dash like a monkey around me. We made it."

"Your back?" she says softly.

He shrugs. His back will twinge all game. He's gotten used to it.

"You should take a few laps on the concourse," she tells him. "After a while. So you don't get those spasms."

Entirely, entirely undignified. It was one time. Must she always bring it up? "Dash calmed down by the time we got to the stadium. But that's when he realized that his hat was gone. Must have fallen off in the crush of people, though I honestly can't be certain he had it on the train either."

Kate winces. "He must have flipped out."

"Melt down city," Castle quips. "That was us."

As they left home for the stadium, Dash was so excited about his new _official_ pinstripe Jeter jersey, how cool he looked decked out. To not have the _hat_ after all of that...

"I figured outside the ballpark would be the easiest place to get a hat," Castle continues. "The team stores inside are seriously packed, like sardines. You know Dash hates that."

"You were trying to head off the melt down," she offers. As if he needs reassuring for his utter disaster of a field trip.

"And I wanted to be fair to Ella too. I told both kids to pick something out. I was paying more attention to Dash, making sure he wasn't getting past his point of no return, so really, when Ella picked something out - finally - I just went with it. Yes, fine, let's go, kids."

Dash must be listening in because he begins his protest again, squawking loudly enough for the whole section to hear him. "Why are you even letting her wear-"

Beckett turns back to their son. She partially blocks Dash's view, not even letting him squirm around her to see the game. She applies pressure to his back to keep his focus as she speaks in soft tones. After a moment, Dashiell goes quiet, listening to his mother. His shoulders are still hunched, but when Kate releases him, he keeps his bad mood to himself.

Castle slides his arm along his wife's shoulders.

"She did it on purpose," Kate says quietly to him. This is the longest conversation Rick has ever had with her in the _middle_ of a Yankees rally. She and Dash are usually too absorbed by the game to spend time talking.

"Ella did what on purpose?" Castle asks.

Kate turns her head and pierces him with a pained look. "Bought the hat. She knows better. She knew what she was getting."

"She... did seem to know," Castle mutters. "But honestly, the kids were trailing behind me as we walked down here and Dash could've pointed it out to her. He was in the mood to lash out. Drawing back from his meltdown and a little ashamed - so he picked on her. Made her feel stupid for the hat instead of letting himself feel stupid for losing his own."

Kate narrows her eyes at him. Sometimes they do this, take the kids' sides against each other. Kate thinks she knows Ellery's diabolical little heart, and Castle thinks Dash brings a lot of this on himself. Dash is the one who, through therapy, has been given keys to his issues, the tools necessary to understanding himself, while Ellery is the baby, often going without attention because her brother needs it more.

Ella might have known it was a Mets hat, but Castle would bet she just wanted the pretty red one. She thinks like _him_ when it comes to sports. He buys clothes for how they look, not whose number is on the back.

"Fine," Kate says sharply. "Whatever the case, it's not acceptable." She's giving him _The Look_.

Castle doesn't miss it. He did once. Never again. The Look means both kids need to respect each other and offer up an _I'm sorry_. The Look means that it's Castle's job to soften up Ella so that she's ready to accept and return a remorseful apology when Kate finishes with Dash.

He leans over to talk to Ella, but his little girl preempts him. "I didn't mean to hurt him. He made me mad. I'm really sorry, Daddy."

That was almost too easy. His kids are perfect. It's like Alexis all over again: children that police themselves. He really is the best dad; he's a natural at this. Kate didn't even need The Look.

Castle pats his daughter's knee. "You know that I'm not the one you have to apologize to?"

She nods quietly.

And then a couple of minutes later, apologies are exchanged, and his work here is done.

But some of the fun of the night seems to have drained away.

* * *

The Yankees's rally continues. Their lead increases to 8-0 with runners at the corners. The game stalls for a second pitching change.

Dash looks like he's forgotten the sibling rivalry, so enamored of his team's success. He does keep his enthusiasm aimed at Kate, rather than Ella, which is a mercy Castle wasn't expecting. During the new pitcher's warmup, Dash gives a blow-by-blow to his mother who missed the first inning, an in-depth recounting of how the Yankees scored their first four runs.

Ellery is sullen, her feet curled up on her seat as she leans into Castle.

Rick gathers her closer with his arm over the seat, and she comes willingly. That's unusual. It's a warm, sticky evening, and that would normally prevent her from being snuggly. Maybe his work here isn't done. He wants to bring that smile back to his daughter's beautiful face.

The inning finally ends with the reliever letting his two inherited runners score. 10-0.

They'll probably be leaving this game early.

It's just as well. They don't often go to night games because they can't get the kids in bed at a decent hour - not with school or swim practice, Beckett's work schedule or his own deadlines looming. It's a rare treat to be under the lights. Too bad Ellery is so withdrawn.

The Mets hitter is announced, a rookie hitting less than .200; there's no hope. The Mets are outclassed in this game. Castle notices, once again, the team logo on the jumbotron, the font of the NY just like Ellery's hat.

It actually is all his fault.

Castle failed as a baseball fan - and it caused him to fail as a father.

How could he not have noticed that the NY on his daughter's red hat was a Mets NY, not a Yankees NY? He bought his daughter a Mets hat. The rivalry between the two is legendary, and he should have known. He's made Ellery the little black sheep of their family.

No wonder Dash was taunting her. It's not an excuse, but the Yankees fans in their section are always setting a bad example. Kate and Rick have regular talks with Dash about it, so he knows not to imitate them, but his own sister was too tempting a target while the Yankees ran up the score.

Castle leans in and taps the bill of his daughter's taboo hat. "Ella, baby girl, I'll get you a red Yankees hat after the game. We'll fix it."

"No." Ellery drapes herself over his arm. "I want _this_ hat, Daddy. It has curls all over." She clings to him even tighter. It's too muggy tonight for this, but it's his daughter, and he doesn't care. Let her cling.

"You like the style better?" he says. He can understand - it is a prettier, fancier script for the NY. "It does curl; you're right."

"I want this one," she repeats, growing stubborn. Her brow furrows. "I can be a Mets. Even if they lose, Daddy, I won't throw a fit like Dash."

Oh, no. His mistaken purchase has converted Ellery into a lifetime fan of a hated rival.

Maybe he _can_ still fix this - some day - but the Mets will have to be awful for a few years. It would help if the Yankees would win a World Series, have a city parade, but the Yankees haven't done that in over ten years. The Cardinals and Giants always seem to win, though the Giants haven't won in a while.

Honestly, it's hard to care. If Ellery is going to root for teams based on the logo, he'll need to be careful about that Cardinals' bird on the bat; it's pretty cute, and it's red - her favorite color these days. Maybe they'll avoid the World Series until there's a clear-cut New York Champion.

Wait - the Mets and Yankees are in different leagues. National League for the Mets and American for the Yankees. If the two teams don't play often, their family can skip the crosstown series every year. Dash would watch any baseball game, even if it was at the Mets's CitiField. They can do this. There's room for two teams in the Castle household.

Castle still needs to cheer up his little girl. There's nothing in this game to be happy about for a Mets fan.

"I could get a hat like yours. What do you think?" Castle tells her quietly. "Since Dash has Mom on his side?"

"But you're a Yankees fan," Ella says pointedly.

"But you were too when you woke up this morning."

Ellery pauses, gives him a slow look. Her lips curl at the corner, that crooked smile of her mother's. "Okay."

"All right, then," he smiles back. She looks moderately pleased with the balance of power in their family.

An inning passes with Mets lacking a single baserunner. At least the Yankees have stopped rubbing it in; they have the same double digit lead after the next three.

Kate takes Dash to get Dippin' Dots. For some reason he does better with those than the cold of regular ice cream. Dash very nicely offers to bring back one for his sister, eager to make it up between them. Ellery must sense that, because she agrees to a cup even though they're not her favorite. She's still quiet, but at least they don't seem to be mad at each other.

After they return and everyone resettles, Castle notices Ellery isn't watching the game. The Mets have finally produced a base runner, and like a good dad, Castle is cheering for his new team while Ella seems oblivious. She completely misses when the guy steals second.

Following her line of sight, he spots two birds sitting about three feet apart on a wire that extends from the left field upper deck down to the netting that protects the fans behind home plate.

"Are you watching the birds, baby girl?"

Ella nods.

He watches her a moment, then offers, "They're turtle doves."

He gets a glance for that. "Like Christmas?"

"That's right." He hums the song to himself before adding, "Like the second day of Christmas." It's one of his mother's favorite carols. After many years of her full-length musical delivery, he's mostly tried to block it out.

"Ms. Kelly said Noah had a pet dove. It told him there was dry land."

"Noah on the ark," he confirms. "He forgot the unicorns." Ellery came home from preschool with that story and he and Kate had to look up Noah and the ark. Ella was concerned about the unicorns; she couldn't understand why they never made it to the boat. Now she expects them to meet her in heaven.

"And peace doves," Ella goes on, apparently rattling off all the doves she knows about. "And doves in sand dollars. And Dove chocolate - Mommy's favorite. And-"

"Yeah, Cricket, there are many different types of doves. Even pigeons are doves."

"What kind of doves are these, Daddy? The ones watching baseball. They Christmas doves?"

"Turtle doves? In the same family. I think we call these mourning doves." His lips quirk. "Prince sang about them crying."

Innocent blue eyes turn to him under the red brim of her hat. "The Little Prince sings?"

"No, baby girl." He tucks a wild strand of Ella's hair behind her ear and under her cap. "Different Prince."

"Prince Harry?"

"Not him either. Musician. Mommy plays his music sometimes on her iPod. It's an acquired taste."

Ellery crinkles her nose at him and turns to look at the doves roosting on the wire. Instead of ignoring him, which would be Kate's method of dealing with him, Ellery curls an arm through his and leans closer. "Daddy. Why are the doves crying all morning?"

He chuckles and dips the brim of her hat. "Not morning. Different word. Different spelling too. It means when a person is very sad because he lost something." Dash should be hearing this. He loves homonyms. "It's just a name, little cricket. Mourning doves don't really cry."

"Oh. That's good. I don't want them to cry. Why are they sitting there? Are they baseball fans too?" She doesn't say Yankees fans. Maybe she's identified with them, taken them in as her own. She does that to their animals, giving them her own feelings.

"They could be fans. But what they really like is the food we leave behind." Seems rather dangerous though, birds in a ballpark. He's seen the Randy Johnson video on YouTube: one fastball down the middle and the bird that flew into its path was a puff of feathers. Dash laughed at it, but Ellery wouldn't; he didn't show her that video.

"I don't think these birds are looking for food, Daddy. They're watching the game. See?"

Sure enough, the birds keep cocking their heads as if closely investigating every movement of the pitcher. They were roosting about three feet apart, but they've definitely sidled closer. The space between the two are disappearing, slowly, slyly. As if doing a mating dance.

He leans in close to his daughter, ducks his head to look at her under the brim of her baseball cap. "I know what they're doing," Castle whispers conspiratorially.

"What?" Ellery whispers back. Her eyes dart to him.

"They're on a date."

"Ooh, a date." A fast look to the doves and then back to him. "They love each other?"

"Of course. They left the kiddos at home so they could have date night."

"Date night." Ella looks at him like she's trying to puzzle out whether or not she can believe him.

"Mourning doves mate for life. So they'll always be together, forever and ever."

"All the ways, like you and Mommy?"

"You got it."

"How did my doves meet?" Ellery has completely turned away from the game, both her skinny arms wrapped around his bicep. "How they fall in love, Daddy? Tell me the story."

Story time with Ellery is infinitely better than watching the Mets lose. And hopefully he can redeem his error over the NY hat - at least in his daughter's eyes.

"Well, like a lot of birds, they met at a party." He feels Kate lean against his shoulder on the other side, glances quickly to her with a smile. She's listening too, it seems. "But Mr. Pigeon was so bored with his party."

"Why was he bored?" Ella asks.

"Nothing new ever happened. He'd done everything he was interested in doing. He had a great job and fun friends, but it was always bird seed and bread crumbs, nothing ever changing. But then one night, at this particular party, something unexpected happened."

"What happened, Daddy?"

"Ms. Dove showed up."

"And they loved each other?"

Rick shakes his head. "Nope. They hated each other. On sight."

" _Hated_ each other?" Ellery narrows her eyes at him. "But, Daddy, you said-"

"That's how it starts, cricket. Passion and fire-"

Kate nudges him hard and he lifts an eyebrow at her. _I'm telling a story here._

She makes a gesture as if to say, _continue,_ bowing out _._

"Mr. Pigeon and Ms. Dove got on each other's nerves. See them right now, Ella? How they started out so far apart and now they're getting closer and closer?"

"Oh. They're flirting!"

Kate buries a grin into his shoulder but he doesn't bother hiding his. Ellery seems excited to have the evidence right before her eyes, two pigeons growing closer, magnetic.

"Daddy, what happened then?"

"Well, Mr. Pigeon was so excited by this new bird that he followed her all around town. To the telephone pole, the roof garden, the Empire State Building, the East River, Central Park.

Didn't matter where she went, he followed after."

Ella sighs with happiness, her eyes on the mourning doves that are now about one foot away from each other.

"And then one day, Ms. Dove stopped for a drink, and a hungry raccoon found her. She got hurt, she nearly died. But-"

"But Mr. Pigeon saved her life!"

"You got it," he murmurs, smiling down at her. "Mr. Pigeon pecked the mean raccoon's head until he scurried off. And then Mr. Pigeon flew away with Ms. Dove-"

"Into the sunset," Ellery finishes with relish. She's beaming up at him, and she seems to have forgotten where she is, because she lifts up and tries to kiss his cheek - causing the brim of her hat to knock into his nose.

Castle tips her hat back and offers his daughter a clear path to his cheek. Ellery giggles and wraps her arms around his neck. She smells like ice cream and red dirt. When she leans in over the armrest, Castle has to catch her, gather her into his lap for his kisses.

"You like that story?" he asks, settling her on his knee, tickling her only a little.

"Good story - hey! Look, Daddy, my doves have met in the middle!"

Castle glances towards the birds on their wire, and sure enough, the doves have cozied up next to each other.

Just as Kate has done to him, her chin on his cheek, her fingers combing through the hair at his nape, all lovey and cooing in his ear.

He's not exactly sure why, except that he's made Ella happy after the hat mix-up.

Ellery leans out again, calls for her brother's attention. "Dashy. Dash, guess what?"

"We're winning," Dash says triumphantly. His face is fierce with the Yankees achievement so far, but Ellery can't be dragged down.

Instead she beams back at him. "Daddy told me a _Beckett_ story."

"I did what-?"

"You're sweet, Castle."

"What did I-?"

"Daddy told me _all_ about him and Mommy at a party. I got a Beckett story." She's almost taunting her brother with it.

"Da-ad. Tell me, too. Tell me the _real_ stuff. You always make it up."

Castle stares at Kate, his beautiful, happy wife, and he has no _idea_ what his kids are talking about.

"It was a story about the doves," he finally answers. "And a raccoon. Dash, buddy, I don't think I could even remember the words."

Kate leans in and softly kisses him, her fingers stroking his ear, his jaw, such a light and tender thing. "You tell our story so well, Rick. No matter the words you use."

* * *

They leave early. No one needs to see the end of a 16-1 annihilation. Dash looks like the walking dead, but Ella is completely passed out. Kate shames Castle's bad back again by carrying their daughter, leaving Rick to steer a stumbling Dash.

When they get home, they're both carrying kids upstairs to their respective rooms.

"Don't worry about bath or pjs," Kate whispers. "Just take their shoes off."

Dashiell would never sleep through Castle putting his pajamas on, so he wasn't planning on it anyway. But he gives her a thumbs up and carries Dash to his bed, laying him down gently, tugging off the shoes, and covering him with his comforter. T-rex has followed him inside, and Castle rubs the dog behind his ears.

"Need to go out, Rex?" he murmurs. But the dog jumps onto the bed and settles in with Dashiell, ignoring his offer. Rex will no doubt be up early with Kate, so he'll make it.

Castle scratches the dog behind his ears, kisses Dash's forehead, and slips out of the room. He meets Kate in the middle of the hall. She hooks his pinky finger as she heads for the stairs, and he follows.

Rick breaks the silence, speaking in low tones as they reach the living room. "I'm sorry I made our daughter a Mets fan."

Kate grunts her acceptance, but even in the dark of the loft he notices a slight twist to her lips.

"What?" he says, tugging at her.

Kate hums. "I need to work on my poker face." She takes the earrings out of her ears, head tilted, still smirking.

He trails after her into their bedroom, watching her toe off her shoes. "I don't get it. Our son and daughter are now entrenched rivals, and you're laughing."

She takes a moment to pull her shirt off over her head, disappearing into the closet. "My grandfather, my dad's dad, was not a Yankees fan."

"You're kidding." He knows _so little_ about baseball, but he knows this much: in New York City, you either love the Yankees or you hate them.

Kate returns wearing her pajamas. "He was a New York Giants fan. John McGraw, Mel Ott, Polo Grounds, Willie Mays, Bobby Thomson."

"The Shot Heard 'Round the World. Even I know that one," Castle acknowledges. "Does this mean your family ought to be San Francisco Giants fans?"

"My dad was a Giants fan until he was eight. Then in '58, they moved with the Dodgers to California. Breaking the hearts of half the city."

"So that's when he became a Yankees fan." He begins to dress for bed as well, trying to catch up to her.

"No, actually. Dad's not a Yankees fan at all."

His jaw drops. "Are you _kidding_ me?" When has this - why has she never - what in the _world?_

"The Mets were founded in '62, and they took on the Giants old NY logo, as well as a color from each of the departed teams. Orange from the Giants, blue from the Dodgers."

"Yes, but _Jim Beckett_."

"Is a Mets fan," she admits, nodding with a wince. "He had four years - he calls it wilderness wandering, when he had no team to root for - and then the Mets showed up and it was like a vacuum, you know?"

Castle shakes his head, following her into the bathroom. "But you, Kate Castle. You clearly are a Yankees fan."

Her eyes lift to meet his in the mirror. "My dad raised me a Mets fan."

"What?"

"Shh, I'm telling a story, Castle."

He zips his lips and leans against the counter, watching her as she inspects her reflection.

Kate turns on the faucet, talking over the sound of rushing water. "My first game was in '86. The Mets had Dwight Gooden, Darryl Strawberry, Keith Hernandez, and Gary Carter. They won the World Series that year, after the Bill Buckner play."

He stares at her dumbly for a moment, watching her wash her face. "Then why in the world are you a Yankees fan?"

Kate splashes cold water against her closed eyes, talks around her nightly ablution. "Jeter joined the Yankees."

"That's when they got good, right." He passes her a towel, and she wipes off her face.

When her head lifts to him, the smirk is back. "Well. I was fourteen, so I don't know that I cared about good, Castle. You do the math."

"Okaaay?"

"He was hot."

Castle laughs. "I _knew_ it. Now I'm so glad we went down to the locker room and met him before he retired."

"I am too," Kate winks. "My dad still follows the Mets, though."

"So what you're saying is your family started out Giants fans, you were raised as a Mets fan just because your dad hated the Yankees, and you jumped ship because Jeter was hot... so it's totally okay if our daughter is a Mets fan."

"We'll manage." Kate turns to him, sides her hands up his chest to hook her arms behind his neck.

"And if she changes her mind?" he persists. "Switches sides like you did?"

"That's fine," she gives, leaning in so that her mouth touches his. "So long as she's not a Cubs fan. That's not a happy life."

"Because you said that," he sighs, "you know she will."


End file.
